


And Was Hell Raised?

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Injury, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 13:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the fall Will contemplates his own kinds of hell.For the Ravage Kickstarter digital zine.





	And Was Hell Raised?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silkpocketsquare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkpocketsquare/gifts).



> Don’t forget to support Ravage! The next art, fic and poetry filled fanbook. The Kickstarter is going until March 15th.

He cut himself on the glass as he cleared it up. The thinning edge of the bottle’s neck, where it flared out to make the shoulders, like a knapped blade. He sucked his thumb as it dripped and was more careful with the rest of the pieces.

He shifted the shards into some old newspaper from the kitchen. He sighed. From the date at the top it was from when he’d been in the BSHCI, when he’d thought Abigail lost, when he’d hated, and obsessed over Hannibal with every breath that eased over his aching heart.

He nudged the glass fragments to one side and flipped a few pages. The crossword was three quarters filled in. A rounded hand using a blue biro. The colour had bled a little into the paper. The answers didn’t match the questions either. Both more and less cryptic than the clues themselves. He sighed. There was nothing there really. Nothing revealing of Abigail’s interior life during what must have been a terrifying interlude, suspended here above the roiling Atlantic.

He sighed again. His internal dialogues with Abigail had always revealed to him more about himself than her. She was always kinder to him in his own head than she ever had been in reality, more sympathetic, more trusting, more like someone whom he could love and who would love him in return. A dream then. It was his own kind of hell really. He looked again. How easy it would be to make something of those random words. Raise hell again.

He flipped back and shifted the glass together into the centre of the double page spread, minding his fingers this time. The cut on his thumb had slowed to a sluggish pulse. Nothing really to bother with compared to all the other things he maybe should worry about. He glanced across the room, Chiyoh was dealing with the worst of it, had pushed him aside. He frowned. It wasn’t the first time she’d picked up after his messes. Maybe he owed it to her to finally take her advice. Maybe. 

He picked at the loose label of the bottle. If it wasn’t the actual bottle then it was the same vintage as that one he’d brought to Hannibal’s dinner party. The one he didn’t stay for. When Hannibal had smiled at his little quip about having a date with the Chesapeake Ripper. Always with these little games between them. Even when they didn’t know quite what the rules were, either of them, just created more hell.

He took a deep breath and bundled the bottle up, got to his feet, and looked around for a bin.

No one else need get cut tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend SilkPocketSquare whom I had the joy of meeting in RL at RDC5.


End file.
